PR 4892 
.S6 
1847 
Copy 1 




'■"% 



Price Twenty-Jive Cents, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



BY 



SAMUEL LOVER, 

Author of " Legends and Stories of Ireland," <'Rory O'More,'* &c. 




Jaques. Will you sing? 

Amiens. More at your request than 1o please myself. 

Touchstone. liovers are given to poetry. 

As you Like it. 



Clown. What hast here ? Ballads? 
Mopsa. Pray now buy some. 

Winter'>s Tale. 



FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION, WHICH HAD THE AUTHOR S 

ADDITIONS. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

LEA AND BLANCHARD. 

1847. 



This Edition contains the Songs sung in Mr. Lover's "Irish Evenings." 

Vide London Advertisement. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



The London advertisement states, that " this edition contains the Songs sung in 
Mr. Lover's < Irish Evenings.' " 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



BY 



SAMUEL LOVER, 

AUTHOR OF -'legends AND STORIES OF IRELAND," " EORY O'MORE," ETC. 



Jaques. Will you sing? 

Amiens. More at your request than to please myself. 

Touchstone. Lovers are given to poetry. 

As you like it. 



Clowji. What hast here ?— Ballads ?— 

Mopsa. Pray now buy some. 

Winter'' s Tale. 



FROM THE 
SECOND LONDON EDITION, WHICH HAD ADDITIONS. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

LEA AND BLANCHARD. 

1847. 






7 8 '06 



PHILADELPHIA: 

T. K. AND P. G. COLLINS, 

PRINTEKS. 



P K E F A C E. 



The advice of many literary friends has induced me to 
offer the following pages to the world. I should have feared 
to do so on my own judgment. I have to be thankful for 
the public favor with which many of the songs have already 
been received in a musical shape ; whether they will bear to 
be separated from the airs to which I have wedded them is 
yet to be determined : — my friends say that, after the fashion 
of another sort of separation, they will survive the divorce. 
I hope they are right. 

SAMUEL LOVER. 

24, Charles Street, 
Berners Street, London, 



TO LORD VISCOUNT MORPETH, 

SECRETARY OF STATE FOR IRELAND. 



My Lord, 

Although entertaining the highest admiration of your 
lordship's private worth, it is in your public capacity I beg 
to inscribe to you the following pages. 

Former Secretaries of State for Ireland have considered 
the fulfilment of government duties sufficient, and having 
buckled on their political armor, have seemed to consider it 
impossible to lay it aside; but to your lordship is due the 
credit of having discovered a neutral ground whereon your 
love of Ireland might display itself, apart from the fiery con- 
tention of politics, and where, unarmed, you might tread in 
security. That one sacred spot is the refined and refining 
region of literature and the arts. You, my lord, have dedi- 
cated one particular banquet, among your official entertain- 
ments, to rally round you Irishmen distinguished in arts and 
letters, regardless of their private political opinions; thus 
honoring with a distinct recognition the genius and talent of 
Ireland. 

Of this mark of favor to my country, which you, my lord, 
are the first to have instituted, I, for one, profess myself 
proud; and as some of the following songs relate to my 
native land, they may the more fitly be ofi'ered as a heartfelt 
homage to your lordship from a grateful Irishman. 

I have the honor to be, 
Your lordship's obliged and faithful servant, 

SAMUEL LOVER. 



CONTENTS. 



Soxes OF THE SUPERSTITIONS OF iRELAIfD. PAGE 

The May-dew 17 

The Ring and the Winding-Sheet 18 

Rory O'More; or, Good Omens 19 

The Angel's Whisper 20 

The Morning Dream 21 

The Fairy Tempter 22 

The New Moon 23 

The Four-leaved Shamrock 24 

The Charm 25 

The Falling Star . .• 26 

The Fairy Boy 27 

The Letter 28 

Legendary ballads and miscellaneous songs. 

True Love can ne'er Forget 29 

The Blarney .31 

The Haunted Spring 32 

Ned of the Hill 33 

The Trysting Tree 34 

Memory and Hope 35 

Can't you Guess? 35 

Beauty and Time 36 

The Child and the Gossamer 37 

The Fountain and the Flower 38 

Listen -39 

Under the Rose 39 

My Dark-hair'd Girl 40 

I Think of Thee • 41 

Divided Love 42 

Yes and No 42 

I Leave you to Guess 43 

Oh I Once I had Lovers 44 

The Land of the West 44 

The Wind and the Weathercock 45 

Sleep, My Love 46 

The Star of the Desert 47 

Oh, She is a Bright-eyed Thing 47 

Native Music 48 

The poor Blind Boy 49 

Never Despair 50 

The Convent Belle 50 

Oh ! Don't you Remember 51 

The Land of Dreams 52 



viii CONTENTS. 

Legendary ballads and siiscellaneocs songs. 

PAGE 

Jessie 53 

The Hour I pass With Thee 54 

The Arab 55 

The Sunshine of the Heart 56 

'Tis Sweet to Remember 56 

The Slave Trade 57 

Bring me that Ancient Bowl 58 

When and Where 58 

Soft on the Ear 59 

'Twas Loving Thee Too Well 60 

When Gentle Music 61 

How Sweet 'Tis to Return 62 

Song of the Spanish Peasant 62 

The Happiest Time is Now 63 

The Silent Farewell 64 

'Tis Time to Fly 65 

Molley Carew 65 

The Lady's Hand 68 

My Gentle Lute 69 

The Angel's Wing 70 

Who Are You? 71 

March! 72 

Morning, Sweet Morning 73 

Love Me ! . • .73 

Serenade 74 

Victoria the Queen 75 

Song of the Italian Troubadour 76 

The Child and the Autumn Leaf 76 

Father Land and Mother Tongue 77 

My Mountain Home 78 

The Hour Before Day 79 

'Twas the Day of the Feast 80 

Secrets Were not Meant for Thee 81 

My Mother Dear 82 

The Meeting of Foes, and the Meeting of Jriends . . 82 

Molly Bawn 83 

The Birth of St. Patrick 84 

There's No Such Girl as Mine 85 

Whisper Low 86 

The Pilgrim Harper 87 

Grief is Mine 88 

The Mountain Dew 89 

The Wedding of the Adriatic 90 

Gondolier, Row . 91 

Cupid's Wing 91 

I Can Ne'er Forget Thee 92 

The Snow 93 

When the Sun Sinks to Rest 94 

Forgive but Don't Forget 95 



SONGS 



OF THE 



SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 



THE MAY-DEW. 



To gather the dew from the flowers on May-morning, before the sun 
has risen, is reckoned a bond of peculiar power between lovers. 

Come with me, love, I'm seeking 

A spell in the young year's flowers; 
The magical May-dew is weeping 

Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs; 
Its pearls are more precious than those they find 

In jewel'd India's sea; 
For the dew-drops, love, might serve to bind 
Thy heart, for ever, to me ! 

Oh come with me, love, I'm seeking 

A spell in the young year's flowers; 
The magical May-dew is weeping 
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs. 

Haste, or the spell will be missing, 

We seek in the May-dew now ; 
For soon the warm sun will be kissing 

The bright drops from blossom and bough : 
And the charm is so tender the May-dew sheds 

O'er the wild flowers' delicate dyes. 
That e'en at the touch of the sunbeam, 'tis said 

The mystical influence flies. ' 

2 



18 SONGS OF IRELAND. 

Oh come with me, love, Pm seeking 
A spell in the young year's flowers ; 

The magical May-dew is w^eeping 
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs. 



THE RING AND THE WINDING-SHEET. 

• — • — 
I. 

Why sought you not the silent bower, 

The bower, nor hawthorn tree ; 
Why came you not at evening hour, 

Why came you not to me? 
Say, does thy heart beat colder now, 

Oh! tell me, truly tell. 
Than when you kiss'd my burning brow, 

When last you said " Farewell?" 

II. 

As late my taper I illumed. 

To sigh and watch for thee, 
It soon the mystic form* assumed 

Which lovers smile to see; 
But fondly while I gazed upon 

And trimm'd the flame with care, 
The pledge of plighted love was gone, 

The sign of deathf was there ! 

III. 

Oh say, was this foreboding truth ? 

And wilt thou break thy vow ? 
. And wilt thou blight my op'ning youth? 
And must I — must I now 

* A small exfoliation of wax from the candle, called by the supersti- 
tious " a ring," and considered indicative of marriage. 

■j" When this waxen symbol, instead of being circular, becomes length- 
ened and pendulous, it is then called " a winding sheet,"' and forebodes 
death. 



SONGS OF IRELAND. 19 

Meet death's embrace for that chaste kiss, 

That holy kiss you vow'd? 
And must I, for my bridal dress, 

Be mantled in the shroud! 



RORY O'MORE; OR, GOOD OMENS. 



I. 

Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn. 

He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn ; 

He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please. 

And he thought the best way to do that was to teaze. 

*^Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry, 

Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye, 

"With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, what Pm 

about. 
Faith you've teazed till I've put on my cloak inside 

out." 
"Oh! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way 
You've thrated my heart for this many a day, 
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? 
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. 

II. 

"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like, 
For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike ; 
The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound:" 
"Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you than- the 

ground." 
" Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go; 
Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!" 
"Oh!" says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear. 
For dhrames always go by conthrairies, my dear. 
Oh! jewel, keep dhramingthat same till you die, 
And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie! 
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure ? 
Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rorv O'More. 



20 SONGS OF IRELAND. 

III. 

" Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teazed me enough, 
Sure I've thrash'd for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim 

Duff; 
And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a 

haste, 
So I think, after that, I may talk to the priest.'''''^ 
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, 
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck. 
And he look'd in her eyes that were beaming with light, 
And he kiss'd her sweet lips — don't you think he was 

right ? 
"Now Rory, leave off, sir — you'll hug me no more. 
That's eight times to-day you have kiss'd me before." 
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure. 
For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. 



THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 



A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that, when a child 
smiles in its sleep, it is " talking with angels." 

A BABY was sleeping. 

Its mother was weeping. 
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea; 

And the tempest was swelling 

Round the fisherman's dwelling. 
And she cried, "Dermot darling, oh come back to me!" 

Her beads while she number'd, 

The baby still slumber'd, 
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee ; 
" Oh blest be that warning. 

My child, thy sleep adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." 

* Paddy's mode of asking a girl to name the day. 



SONGS OF IRELAND. 21 

" And while they are keeping 
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, 

Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me! 
And say thou wouldst rather 
They'd watch o'er thy father! 

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." 

The dawn of the morning 

Saw Dermot returning. 
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; 

And closely caressing 

Her child, with a blessing, 
Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with 
thee." 



THE MORNING DREAM. 



The superstitious believe the dream of the night to be false, and that 
of the morning true. 

The eye of weeping 

Had closed in sleeping, 
And I dreamt a bright dream of night ; 

And that sweet dreaming 

Had all the seeming 
Of truth in a softer light. 

I saw thee, smiling, 

And light beguiling 
Beam'd soft from that eye of thine ; 

As in a bower. 

You own'd love's power. 
And fondly vowed thou wouldst be mine. 

The dream deceived me, — 
For I believed thee. 
In sleep, as in waking hours; 



'22 SONGS OF IRELAND. 

But even slumber 

Few joys could number, 

While resting in dreamy bowers : 
For soon, my waking 
The soft spell breaking, 

I found fancy false as you ; 

'Twas darkness round me — 
The night-dream bound me — 

And I knew the dream was then untrue. 

Again I slumber'd, 
And woes unnumber'd 

Weigh'd on my aching heart ; 

Thy smile had vanish'd, 
And I was banish'd! — 

For ever doom'd to part. 

From sleep I started, 
All broken-hearted; 

The morn shone as bright as you! 
The lark's sweet singing 
My heart's knell ringing, — 

For I knew the morning dream w^as true. 



THE FAIRY TEMPTER. 



They say Mortals have sometimes been carried away to Fairy-land. 

A FAIR girl was sitting in the green- wood shade, 
List'ning to the music the spring birds made, 
When, sweeter by far than the birds on the tree, 
A voice murmur'd near her, " Oh come, love, with me. 
In earth or air, 
A thing so fair 
I have not seen as thee! 
Then come, love, with me." 



SONGS OF IRELAND. 23 

"With a Star for thy home, in a palace of light, 
Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night ; 
Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold, — 
I will show thee the birth-place of jewels and gold. 
And pearly caves. 
Beneath the waves. 
All these, all these are thine, 
If thou wilt be mine." 

Thus whisper'd a Fairy to tempt the fair girl, 
But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl ; 
For she said, "Tho' thy gifts to a poor girl were dear, 
My Father, my Mother, my Sisters are here. 
Oh ! what would be 
Thy gifts to me 
Of Earth, and Sea, and Air, 
If my heart w^ere not there?" 



THE NEW MOON. 



When our attention is directed to the New Moon by one of the opp6- 
site sex, it is considered kicky. 

Oh, don't you remember the lucky new moon, 

Which I show'd you as soon as it peep'd forth at eve ? 

When I spoke of omens, and you spoke of love, 

And in both, the fond heart will for ever believe! 

And while you whisper'd soul-melting words in my ear, 

I trembled — for love is related to fear ; 

And before that same moon had declined in its wane, 

I held you my own, in a mystical chain ; 

Oh, bright was the omen, for love follow'd soon. 

And I bless'd as I gazed on the lovely new Moon. 

And don't you remember those two trembling stars? 

That rose up, like gems, from the depths of the sea ! 

Or like two young lovers, who stole forth at eve 

To meet one another, like you love and me. 



24 SONGS OF IRELAND. 

And we thought them a type of our meeting on earth, 
Which show'd that our love had in heaven its birth. 
The Moon's waning crescent soon faded away, 
But the love she gave birth to, will never decay! 
Oh, bright was the omen, for love follow 'd soon. 
And I bless when I gaze on the lovely new Moon. 



THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK. 



A four-leaved Shamrock is of such rarity that it is supposed to endue 
the finder with magic power. 

I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, 
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my 

spells! 
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or 

gold. 
For treasure tires the weary sense, — such triumph is but 

cold; 
But I would play th' enchanter's part, in casting bliss 

around, — 
Oh! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be 

found. 

To worth I would give honor! — I'd dry the mourner's 

tears. 
And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years. 
And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that 

had grown cold. 
Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as 

of old! 
Oh! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss 

around. 
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be 

found ! 



SONGS OF IRELAND. 25 

The heart that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams 

of love, 
Should see them all returning, — -like Noah's faithful dove. 
And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's 

dark'ning sea. 
And Mis'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from 

sinking be ; 
Oh! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss 

around. 
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be 

found ! 



THE CHARM. 



They say that a flower maybe found in a valley opening to the West, 
which bestows on the finder the power of winning the affection of the 
person to whom it is presented. Hence, it is supposed, has originated 
the custom of presenting a bouquet. 

They say there's a secret charm which lies 

In some w^ild flow'ret's bell. 
That grows in a vale where the West wund sighs. 

And w^here secrets best might dwell ; 
And they who can find the fairy flower, 

A treasure possess that might grace a throne, 
For oh! they can rule, with the softest powder. 

The heart they would make their own. 

The Indian has toil'd in the dusky mine 

For the gold that has made him a slave ; 
Or, plucking the pearl from the sea-god's shrine. 

Has tempted the wrath of the wave ; 
But ne'er has he sought, with a love like mine. 

The flower that holds the heart in thrall ; 
Oh! rather I'd win that charm divine. 

Than their gold and their pearl and alll 



26 SONGS OF IRELAND. 

I've sought it by day, from morn till eve, 

I've won it — in dreams at night; 
And then how I grieve, my couch to leave, 

And sigh at the morning's light. 
Yet sometimes I think, in a hopeful hour. 

The blissful moment I yet may see. 
To win the fair flower from the fairy's bower, 

And give it, love — to thee. 



THE FALLING STAR. 



It is believed that a wash expressed while we see a star falling is 
lulfilled. 

I SAW a star that was falling, 

I wish'd the wish of my soul, 
My heart on its influence calling 

To shed all its gentle control. 
Hope whisper'd my wish would be granted, 

And Fancy soon waved her bright wand. 
My heart in sweet ecstacy panted. 

At the visions were smiling beyond. 
Oh! like the meteors, — sweeping. 

Thro' darkness their luminous way. 
Are the pleasures too worthless for keeping, 

As dazzling, but fleeting as they. 

I saw a star that was beaming. 

Steady and stilly and bright. 
Unwearied its sweet watch 'twas seeming 

To keep through the darkness of night : 
Like those two stars in the heaven. 

Are the joys that are false and are true, 
I felt as a lesson 'twas given. 

And thought, my own true Love, of you. 



SONGS OF IRELAND. ^ 

When I saw the star that was beaming, 

Steady and stilly and bright, 
Unwearied its sweet watch 'twas seeming 

To keep through the darkness of night. 



THE FAIRY BOY. 



When a beautiful child i>in€s and dies, the Irish peasant believes the 
healthy infant has been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left -in its 
place. 

A MOTHER came, when stars were paling, 

Wailing round a lonely spring, 
Thus she cried, while tears were falling, 

Calling on the Fairy King: 
"Why, with spells my child caressing, 

Courting him with fairy joy. 
Why destroy a mother's blessing. 

Wherefore steal my baby boy.'' 

"O'er the mountain, thro' the wild wood. 
Where his childhood loved to play. 
Where the flow'rs are freshly springing, 
There I wander, day by day ; 
"There I wander, growing fonder 
Of the child that made my joy, 
On the echoes wildly calling 
To restore my fairy boy. 

"But in vain my plaintive calling, 
Tears are falling all in vain. 
He now sports with fairy pleasure. 
He's the treasure of their train! 
"Fare thee well! my child, for ever, 
In this world I've lost my joy. 
But in the next we ne'er shall sever, 
There I'll find my angel boy." 



28 SONGS OF IRELAND. 



THE LETTER. 



A small spark, attached to the wick of a candle, is considered to in- 
dicate the arrival of a letter to the one before whom it burns. 

Fare thee well, Love, now thou art going 

Over the wild and trackless sea; 
Smooth be its waves, and fair the wind blowing, 

Tho' 'tis to bear thee far from me. 
But when on the waste of ocean. 

Some happy home-bound bark you see, 
Swear by the truth of thy heart's devotion, 

To send a letter back to me. 

Think of the shore thou'st left behind thee. 

Even when reaching a brighter strand ; 
Let not the golden glories blind thee 

Of that gorgeous Indian land ; 
Send me not its diamond treasures. 

Nor pearls from the depth of its sunny sea. 
But tell me of all thy woes and pleasures, 

In a long letter back to me. 

And while dwelling in lands of pleasure. 

Think, as you bask in their bright sunshine, 
That while the ling'ring time I measure. 

Sad and wintry hours are mine ; 
Lonely by my taper weeping. 

And watching, the spark of promise to see , 
All for that bright spark, my night watch keeping, 

For oh! His a letter, Love, from thee! 
To say that soon thy sail will be flowing, 

Homeward to bear thee over the sea ; 
Calm be the waves and swift the wind blowing, 

For oh ! thou art coming back to me ! 



££genbars Ballaiis 



AND 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 



TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET. 



It is related of Carolan, the Irish bard, that when deprived of sight, 
and after the lapse of twenty years, he recognized his first love by the 
touch of her hand. The lady's name was Bridget Cruise ; and though 
not a pretty name, it deserves to be recorded, as belonging to the woman 
who could inspire such a passion. 

" True love can ne'er forget : • 
Fondly as when we met, 
Dearest, I love thee yet. 

My darling one!" 
Thus sung a minstrel gray 
His sweet impassion'd lay, 
Down by the ocean's spray. 

At set of sun. 
But wither'd was the minstrel's sight. 
Morn to him was dark as night, 
Yet his heart was full of light, 

As he this lay begun, 
" True love can ne'er forget, 
Fondly as when we met. 
Dearest, I love thee yet. 

My darling one ! 

" Long years are past and o'er. 
Since from this fatal shore, 
Cold hearts and cold winds bore 
My love from me." 



30 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Scarcely the minstrel spoke, 
When quick, with flashing stroke, 
A boat's light oar the silence broke 

Over the sea ; 
Soon upon her native strand 
Doth a lovely lady land. 
While the minstrel's love-taught hand 

Did o'er his wild harp run ; 
"True love can ne'er forget. 
Fondly as when we met. 
Dearest, I love thee yet, 

My darling one!" 

Where the minstrel sat alone. 
There, that lady fair hath gone, 
Within his hand she placed her own, 

The bard dropp'd on his knee; 
From his lip soft blessings came. 
He kiss'd her hand with truest flame. 
In trembling tones he named — her name. 

Though her he could not see ; 
But oh! — the touch the bard could tell 
Of that dear hand, remember'd well, 
Ah! — by many a secret spell 

Can true love find his own! 
For true love can ne'er forget. 
Fondly as when they met; 
He loved his lady yet, 

His darling one. 



LEGJ^NDARY BALLADS. 



THE BLARNEY. 



There is a certain coign-stone on the summit of Blarney Castle, in the 
county of Cork, the kissing of which is said to impart the gift of per- 
suasion. Hence the phrase, applied to those who make a flattering 
speech, — "you've kissed the Blarney Stone," 

Oh! did you ne'er hear of " the Blarney" 
That's found near the banks of Killarney? 

Believe it from me, 

No girl's heart is free, 
Once she hears the sweet sound of the Blarney. 
For the Blarney's so great a deceiver, 
That a girl thinks you're there, though you leave her; 

And never finds out 

All the tricks you're about. 
Till she's quite gone herself, — with your Blarney. 

Oh! say, would you find this same ^'Blarney?" 
There's a castle, not far from Killarney, 

On the top of its wall — 

(But take care you don't fall,) 
There's a stone that contains all this Blarney. 
Like a magnet, its influence such is. 
That attraction it gives all it touches ; 

If you kiss it, they say. 

From that blessed day 
You may kiss whom you please with your Blarney. 



32 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



THE HAUNTED SPRING, 



It is said, Fays have the power to assume various shapes, for the pur- 
pose of luring mortals into Fairyland. Hunters seem to have been par- 
ticularly the objects of the lady fairies' fancies. 

Gaily through the mountain glen 

The hunter's horn did ring, 
As the milk-white doe 
Escaped his bow, 

Down by the haunted spring; 
In vain his silver horn he wound, — 

'Twas echo answer'd back; 
For neither groom nor baying hound 

Were on the hunter's track; 
In vain he sought the milk-white doe 
That made him stray, and 'scaped his bow, 
For, save himself, no living thing 
Was by the silent haunted spring. 

The purple heath-bells, blooming fair. 
Their fragrance round did fling, 
As the hunter lay, 
At the close of day, 
Down by the haunted spring. 
A lady fair, in robe of white. 
To greet the hunter came ; 
She kiss'd a cup with jewels bright, 
And pledged him by his name; 
"Oh Lady fair," the hunter cried, 
"Be thou my love, my blooming bride, 
A bride that well might grace a king! 
Fair lady of the haunted spring." 

In the fountain clear, she stoop'd 
And forth she drew a ring; 
And that bold knight 
His faith did plight, 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 33 

Down by the haunted spring. 
But since the day his chase did stray, 

The hunter ne'er was seen; 
And legends tell, he now doth dwell 

Within the hills so green.* 
But still the milk-white doe appears, 

And wakes the peasant's evening fears, 
While distant bugles faintly ring 

Around, the lonely haunted spring. 



NED OF THE HILL. 



Many legends are extant of this romantic minstrel freebooter, whose 
predatory achievements sometimes extended to the hearts of the gentle 
sex. 

Dark is the evening and silent the hour: 
Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tow'r.'' 
His harp all so tenderly touching with skill. 
Oh, who should it be but Ned of the Hill! 
Who sings "Lady love, come to me now, 
Come and live merrily under the bough, 

And I'll pillow thy head. 

Where the fairies tread, 
If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill!" 

Ned of the Hill has no castle or hall. 
Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his call ; 
But one little archer, of exquisite skill. 
Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill, 
Who sings, " Lady love, come to me now, 
Come and live merrily under the bough. 

And I'll pillow thy head. 

Where the fairies tread. 
If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill." 

* Fays and fairies are supposed to have their dwelling-places within 
old green hills. 



34 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

'Tis hard to escape from that fair lady's bower, 
For high is the window, and guarded the tower, 
*'But there's always a way where there is a willy'*'' 
So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill! 
Who sings ^' Lady love, thou art mine now! 
We will live merrily under the bough, 

And I'll pillow thy head, 

Where the fairies tread. 
For Ellen is bride to Ned of the Hill!" 



THE TRYSTING TREE. 



Now the golden sun has set. 

And I am at the trysting tree. 
Dearest, you will not forget 

That here to meet you promised me. 
Now is ev'ry flower closing. 

Falling is the ev'ning dew, 
Birds are with their mates reposing; 

Where, my true Love, where are you ? 

Darkness is around descending: 

See the lovely ev'ning star. 
Like a brilliant page, attending 

On the young moon's silver car! 
While together thus they wander 

Through the silent summer sky ; 
So on earth, less bright, but fonder, 

Dearest, so will you and L 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 35 



MEMORY AND HOPE. 



Oft have I mark'd, as o'er the sea 

We've swept before the v^ind, 
That those whose hearts were on the shore 

Cast longing looks behind ; 
While they, whose hopes have elsewhere been, 

Have watch'd with anxious eyes, 
To see the hills that lay before, 

Faint o'er the waters rise. 

'Tis thus, as o'er the sea of life 

Our onward course w^e track. 
That anxious sadness looks before. 

The happy still look back ; 
Still smiling on the course they've pass'd. 

As earnest of the rest, — 
'Tis Hope's the charm of wretchedness, 

While Mem'ry wooes the blest. 



CAN'T YOU GUESS? 



Can't you guess why your friends all accuse you 

Of moping, and pleasing the less? 
And why nothing in life can amuse you ? 

Can't you guess? can't you guess? can't you guess? 
And why now your slumbers are broken, 

By dreams that your fancy possess. 
In which a sweet name is oft spoken. 

Can't you guess? 

Can't you guess why you always are singing 
The songs that wt heard the last spring? 



36 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Do you think of their musical ringing, 
Or how sweetly the Captain can sing? 

With him you are always duetting, 
And your solos were singing the less ; 

Now which is the best for coquetting? 
Can't you guess? 

'Tis an accident scarce w^orth repeating, 

Yet people, you know dear, will talk; 
But 'tis strange how you always are meeting 

With — some one you know, when you walk. 
You are fond of the grove, — 'tis so shady, 

Besides 'tis frequented the less: 
I^ a tale, there, best told to a lady? — 

But if you won't tell, — I can guess! 



BEAUTY AND TIME. 



Time met Beauty one day in her garden. 

Where roses were blooming fair ; 
Time and Beauty w^ere never good friends. 

So she wondered what brought him there. 
Poor Beauty exclaim'd, with a sorrowful air, 
"I request, Father Time, my sweet roses you'll spare," 
For Time was going to mow them all down, 
While Beauty exclaim'd, with her prettiest frown, 

^'Fie, Father Time!" 

"Well," said Time, "at least let me gather 

A few of your roses here, 
'Tis part of my pride, to be always supplied 

With such roses, the whole of the year." 
Poor Beauty consented, tho' half in despair; 
And Time, as he went, ask'd a lock of her hair, 
And as he stole the soft ringlet so bright. 
He vow'd 'twas for love, but she knew 'twas for spite. 

Oh fie. Father Time! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 37 

Time went on— and left Beauty in tears; 

He's a tell-tale, the world well knows, 
So he boasted to all, of the fair lady's fall, 

And show'd the lost ringlet and rose. 
So shock'd was poor Beauty to find that her fame 
Was ruin'd, — tho' she was in no wise to blame. 
That she droop'd like some flow'r that is torn from its 

clime. 
And her friends all mysteriously said,— "/if was Time.'' 

Oh fie, Father Time! 



THE CHILD AND THE GOSSAMER. 



A SUNBEAM was playing thro' flow'rs that hung 

Round a casement, that look'd to the day. 
And its bright touch waken'd a child, who sung 

As it woke, and began its play ; 
And it play'd with the gossamer beam that shed 

Its fairy brightness around its head: 
Oh 'twas sweet to see that child so fair,^ 

At play with the dazzling things of air. 

Oh ne'er was a lovelier plaything seen, 

To childhood's simplicity given. 
It seem'd like a delicate link between 

The creatures of earth and heaven : 
But the sunbeam was cross'd by an angry cloud, 

And the gossamer died in the shadowy shroud, 
And the child look'd sad, when the bright things fled, 

And its smile was gone — and its tears were shed. 

Oh gentle child, in thy infant play. 

An emblem of life hast thou seen ; 
For joys are like sunbeams, — more fleeting than they, 

And sorrows cast shadows between; 



38 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

And friends that in moments of brightness are won, 
Like gossamer, only are seen — in the sun. 

Oh! many a lesson of sadness may 
Be learn'd from a joyous child at play. 



THE FOUNTAIN AND THE FLOWER. 



A GENTLE flow'r of pallid hue. 

Beside a sportive fountain grew. 

And as the streamlet murmur'd by, 

Methought the flow'ret seem'd to sigh, 

" Yes, you may speed, in sparkling track, 

Your onward course, nor e'er come back, 

And murmur still your flattering song, 

To ev'ry flower you glide along," 

And Fancy said, in tender dream, 

" The flow'r is Woman, Man the stream." 

And Fancy still, in fev'rish dream. 
Pursued the course of that wild stream, 
O'er rocks and falls all heedless cast, 
And in the ocean lost at last : 
" Glide on," methought the flow'ret cried, 
" Bright streamlet, in thy sparkling pride ; 
And when thro' deserts far you roam. 
Perchance you'll sigh for early home. 
And, sorrowing, think of that pale flow'r. 
You hurried by at morning hour." 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 39 



LISTEN. 

How sweet 'tis to listen when some one may tell 
OfThe friend that we love and remember so weU 
While, 'midst the soft pleasure we wonder if thus 

How sweet 'tis to listen when soft music floats 
O'er the calm lake below, in some fa^""*'^ "ot*^^' 
Whose intervals sweet waken slumbering thought, 
And we listen-altho' not quite sure that we ought ; 
miirthefoul-melting moonlight o'er calm waters ghsten. 

How sweet, but how fatal it -y hMo l^ten^ ^.^^^^, 

How sweet 'tis to listen, with too willing ear, 
To words that we wish for, yet tremble to hear 
To which ' Xo ' would be cruel, and ' Yes' would be weak 
ind an answer is not on the lip, but the cheek ; 
While in eloquent pauses the eyes brightly glisten,- 
Sce care what yo'u say, and take care how you listen. , 
Take care, how you hsten— taKe care. 



UNDER THE ROSE. 



— « — 
Tv a secret you'd keep there is one I could tell. 
Though I think from my eyes, you might guess it as 

well, 
But as it might ruffle another's repose, 
Se a thorn^et it be ;-that is-under the rose. 



40 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

As Love, in the garden of Venus, one day, 

Was sporting where he was forbidden to play, 

He feared that some Sylph might his mischief disclose, 

So he slyly concealed himself — under a rose. 

Where the likeness is found to thy breath and thy lips, 
Where honey the sweetest the summer bee sips. 
Where Love, timid Love, found the safest repose. 
There our secret we'll keep, dearest, — under the rose. 

The maid of the East a fresh garland may wreathe. 
To tell of the passion she dares not to breathe: 
Thus, in many bright flowers she her flame may disclose, 
But in one she finds secrecy; — under the rose. 



MY DARK-HAIR'D GIRL. 



My dark-hair'd girl, thy ringlets deck. 

In silken curl, thy graceful neck; 

Thy neck is like the swan, and fair as the pearl, 

And light as air the step is of my dark-hair'd girl! 

My dark-hair'd girl, upon thy lip 

The dainty bee might wish to sip. 

For thy lip it is the rose, and thy teeth they are pearl. 

And diamond is the eye of my dark-hair'd girl! 

My dark-hair'd girl, I've promised thee, 

And thou thy faith hast given to me. 

And oh! I w^ould not change for the crown of an earl. 

The pride of being loved by my dark-hair'd girl! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 41 



I THINK OF THEE. 



I LOVE to roam at night 

By the deep sea, 
When the pale moon is bright, 

And think of thee: 
And as the beacon's light 

Gleams o'er the sea. 
Shedding its guardian light, 

I think of thee. 

When o'er some flow'ry ground 

Night winds breathe free, 
Wafting fresh fragrance round, 

I think of thee! 
Then, if some trembling star 

Beaming I see, 
Brighter than others far! — 

I think of thee. 

Though love by fate forbid 

Thou art to me. 
Yet, like a treasure hid, 

I think of thee : 
And though thy plighted kiss 

Mine ne'er can be. 
Next is the secret bliss 

To think of thee ! 



42 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



DIVIDED LOVE. 



When Love o'er the warm heart is stealing 

His mystic, his magical chain, 
How wild is the transport of feeling. 

We scarce can call pleasure or pain? 
Till 'midst the bright joys that surround us, 

Our bondage we tremble to see ; — 
But so closely his fetters have bound us, 

We struggle in vain to be free ! 

As vain is the hope of retreating 

From peril that lurks in the eyes, 
When glances too frequent are meeting, 

And sighs are re-echoed by sighs; 
When thus, with two hearts that are tender. 

The folly so equal hath been, 
'Tis meet that they both should surrender, 

And share the soft bondage between. 



YES AND NO. 



There are two little words that we use, 

Without thinking from whence they both came. 
But if you will list to my muse. 

The birth-place of each I will name: 
The one came from Heaven, to bless. 

The other was sent from below: 
What a sweet little angel is **Yes!" 

What a demon-like dwarf is that "No!" 

And "No" has a friend he can bid 
To aid all his doings as well, 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 43 

In the delicate arch it lies hid 

That adorns the bright eye of the belle ; 

Beware of the shadowy Frown 

Which darkens her bright brow of snow. 

As, bent like a bow to strike down, 
Her lip gives you death with a "No." 



But "Yes" has a twin-sister sprite, — 

'Tis a Smile you will easily guess, — 
That sheds a more heavenly light 

On the doings of dear little "Yes;" 
Increasing the charm of the lip 

That is going some lover to press. 
Oh sweet is the exquisite smile 

That dimples and plays around "Yes." 



I LEAVE YOU TO GUESS.* 



There's a lad that I know ; and I know that he 

Speaks softly to me 

The cushla-ma-chree. 
He's the pride of my heart, and he loves me well, 
But who the lad is, — I'm not going to tell. 

He's as straight as a rush, and as bright as the stream 

That around it doth gleam, 

Oh! of him how I dream; 
I'm as high as his shoulder — the way that I know 
Is, he caught me one day, just my measure to show. 

He whisper'd a question one day in my ear; 

When he breathed it, — oh dear ! 

How I trembled with fear! 
What the question he ask'd was, I need not confess. 
But the answer I gave to the question was — "Yes." 

* From the novel of Rory O'Mcre. 



44 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

His eyes they are bright, and they looked so kind 

When I was inclined 

To spea!^ my mind. 
And his breath is so sweet — oh, the rose's is less, 
And how I found it out, — why, I leave you to guess. 



OH! ONCE I HAD LOVERS.* 

— • — 
Oh! once I had lovers in plenty, 

When a colleen I lived in the glen; 
I kilPd fifty before I was twenty : — 

How happy the moments flew then! 
Then Winter I ne'er could discover, 

For Love brighten'd Time's dusky wing; — 
Oh! when ev'ry new month brought a lover. 

The year it seem'd always like Spring. 

But Cupid's more delicate pinion. 

Could never keep up with old Time ; 
So the gray-beard assumes his dominion. 

When the mid-day of life rings its chime : 
Then gather, when morning is shining, 

Some flow'r while the bright moments last, 
Which closely around the heart twining, 

Will live when the summer is past ! 



THE LAND OF THE WEST.f 



Oh! come to the West, love — oh! come there with me; 
'Tis a sweet land of verdure that springs from the sea, 
Where fair plenty smiles from her emerald throne; — 
Oh, come to the West, and Fll make thee my own! 

* From the novel of Rory O'More. 
t Ibid. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 45 

Pll o-uard thee, Pll tend thee, I'll love thee the best, 
And^you'll say there's no land like the land of the 

West! 

The South has its roses and bright skies of blue, 
But ours are more sweet with love's own changeful hue- 
Half sunshine, half tears,— like the girl I love best, 
Oh! what is the South to the beautiful West! 
Then come to the West, and the rose on thy mouth 
Will be sweeter to me than the flow'rs of the South! 

The North has its snow-tow'rs of dazzling array, 
All Sparkling with gems in the ne'er-setting day; 
There the Storm-King may dwell in the halls he loves 

best. 
But the soft-breathing Zephyr he plays in the West. 
Then come there with me, where no cold wind doth blow, 
And thy neck will seem fairer to me than the snow! 

The Sun in the gorgeous East chaseth the night 
When he riseth, refreshed in his glory and might. 
But where doth he go when he seeks his sweet rest? 
Oh! doth he not haste to the beautiful West? 
Then come there with me ; 'tis the land I love best, 
'Tis the land of my sires!— 'tis my own darling West! 



THE WIND AND THE WEATHERCOCK.* 



The summer Wind lightly was playing 
Round the battlement high of the tow'r, 

Where a Vane, like a lady, was staying, 
A lady vain perch'd in her bow'r. 

To peep round the corner the sly Wind would try: 

But vanes, you know, never look in the wind's eye; 
And so she kept turning shyly away : — 
Thus they kept playing all through the day. 

* From the novel of Rory 0"More. 



46 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

The summer Wind said, ^' She's coqueting;" 
But each belle has her points to be found : 

Before evening, I'll venture on betting, 
She will not then go but come round! 

So he tried from the east and he tried from the west, 

And the north and the south to try which was best ; — 
But still she kept turning shyly away: — 
Thus they kept playing all through the day. 

At evening, her hard heart to soften, 

He said, " You're a flirt, I am sure ; 
But if vainly you are changing so often, 

No lover you'll ever secure." 
** Sweet sir," said the Vane, " it is you w^ho begin, 
When you change so often, in me 'tis no sin ; 

If you cease to flutter, and steadily sigh, 

And only be constant — I'm sure so will I. 



SLEEP, MY LOVE.* 



Sleep, my love — sleep, my love, 

Wake not to weep, my love, 
Though thy sweet eyes are all hidden from me : 

Why shouldst thou weaken to sorrows like mine, love, 

While thou may'st, in dreaming, taste pleasure divine, 
love, 

For blest are the visions of slumbers like thine, love — 
So sleep thee, nor know who says " Farewell to thee!" 

Sleep, my love — sleep, my love, 
Wake not to weep, my love, 

Though thy sweet eyes are all hidden from me : 
Hard 'tis to part without one look of kindness. 
Yet sleep more resembles fond love, in its blindness, 
And thy look would enchain me again ; so I find less 

Of pain, to say, " Farewell, sweet slumb'rer, to thee!" 

* From the novel of Rory O'More. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 47 



THE STAR OF THE DESERT. 



In the depths of the Desert, when lonely and drear 
The sands round the desolate traveler appear, 
The splendor of day gives no aid to his path, 
For landmark, nor compass, the traveler hath. 
But when night sheds her shadow and coolness around, 
Then hark ! how the bells of the camels resound ; 
For the trav'ler is up when the Star sheds its ray, 
'Tis the light of his hope, 'tis the guide of his way. 

And what is this world but a wilderness vast ? 
Where few leave a trace o'er the waste they have pass'd, 
And many are lost in their noon-day of pride, 
That shines forth to dazzle — but seldom to guide. 
Oh, blest is the fate of the one who hath found 
Some load-star to guide thro' the wilderness round; 
And such have I found, my belov'd one, in thee — 
For thou art the Star of the Desert to me ! 



OH, SHE IS A BRIGHT-EYED THING ! 



Oh, she is a bright-eyed thing! 
And her glances, wildly playing, 
While they radiance round her fling. 
Set my loving fancy straying. 
Where to find a thing so bright: 
'Tis not in the diamond's light ; 
The jewels of the richest mine 
Half so brightly may not shine : — 
For gems are cold, and cannot vie 
With living light from beauty's eye ! 



48 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Oh, she is a bright-lipp'd thing! 
And her mouth, like budding roses, 
Fragrance all around doth fling 
When its matchless arch uncloses ; 
With a voice, whose silver tone 
Makes the raptured listener own 
It may be true what poets tell. 
That nightingales 'mid roses dwell ; 
For every word she says to me 
Sounds like sweetest melody! 



NATIVE MUSIC. 



Oh, native music! beyond comparing 
The sweetest far on the ear that falls. 
Thy gentle numbers the heart remembers, 
Thy strains enchain us in tender thralls. 

Thy tones endearing. 

Or sad or cheering, 
The absent soothe on a foreis^n strand : 

Oh! who can tell 

What a holy spell 
Is in the song of our native land ? 

The proud and lowly, the pilgrim holy. 
The lover, kneeling at beauty's shrine, 
The bard who dreams by the haunted streams,- 
All, all are touch'd by thy power divine! 

The captive cheerless. 

The soldier fearless ; 
The mother, — taught by Nature's hand. 

Her child when weeping. 

Will lull to sleeping. 
With some sweet song of her native land! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 49 



THE POOR BLIND BOY. 



A MAID, with a heart that could feel, 

Met a poor little beggar one day, 
Who, in strains full of woe, did appeal 

As he wander'd alone by the way ; 
A light hazel wand in his hand. 

He in finding his way did employ, 
As he cried, ''Oh pity, pity. 

Oh pity the poor blind boy!" 

With a tear, she bestowed him relief. 

And, sighing, she turned to depart ; 
When the boy, with the air of a thief. 

Cried, "Stand, and deliver — your heart!" 
His staff soon was changed to a bow, 

Which, we know, is a dangerous toy. 
In the hands of a certain urchin. 

Who, they say, is a poor blind boy. 

This beggar-boy, bold in his theft. 

Stole her heart, and bewildered her head, 
And the maiden in anguish he left. 

For his rags turned to wings — and he fled: 
So, ladies, beware of all youths 

Who begging petitions employ. 
And cry, " Pity, pity, pity, 

Oh, pity your poor blind boy!" 



50 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



NEVER DESPAIR. 



Oh never despair, for our hopes oftentime 
Spring swiftly as flow'rs in some tropical clime, 
Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night 
Is blooming and fragrant at morning's first light ; 
The mariner marks where the tempest sings loud 
That the rainbow is brighter the darker the cloud, 
Then up! up! Never despair! 

The leaves which the Sybil presented of old, 
Tho' lessen'd in number were not worth less gold ; 
And tho' Fate steal our joys, do not think they're the best, 
The few she has spared may be worth all the rest; 
Good-fortune oft comes in Adversity's form. 
And the rainbow is brightest when darkest the storm, 
Then up! up! Never despair! 

And when all creation was sunk in the flood. 
Sublime o'er the deluge the Patriarch stood ; 
Tho' destruction around him in thunder was hurl'd. 
Undaunted he look'd on the wreck of the world ; 
For high o'er the ruin hung Hope's blessed form. 
The rainbow beamed bright thro' the gloom of the storm, 
Then up! up! Never despair! 



THE CONVENT BELLE. 



There once was a novice, as I've heard tell, 

A novice of some renown. 
Whose raven hair in ringlets fell 
O'er his yet unshaven crown; 
But his vows as yet he had never said, 
Except to a blooming blue-eyed maid, 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 51 

And she had never confessed, till now, 

To this novice, who yet had not made his vow. 

So pious she grew, that early and late, 

She was tapping, alone, at the convent gate ; 

And so often she went her sins to tell. 

That the villagers called her the Convent Belle. 

Ding dong. 

My song, 

My song's of a Convent Belle. 

The novice continued the maid to hear, 
And swiftly the months went round ; 
He had nearly passed his trial year, 
Before he was guilty found : 
But then, suspicion began to spread. 
So the cowl he cast from his curly head. 
The maiden he wedded next morning tide. 
And his penitent pale was his blooming bride ! 
The Prior he stormed at the bridegroom meek. 
Who answered him, fast, — with a smile on his cheek, 
" Good father, indeed, I have acted well, — 
I was only ringing the Convent Belle." 
Ding dong, 
My song, 
My song's of a Convent Belle. 



OH! DON'T YOU REMEMBER? 



Oh! don't you remember the beautiful glade. 
Where in childhood together we playfully stray 'd, 
Where wreaths of wild flowers so often I made. 
Thy tresses so brightly adorning? 
Oh, light of foot and heart were then 
The happy children of the glen : — 
The cares that shade the brows of men 
Ne'er darken childhood's morning. 



52 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Oh ! who can forget the young innocent hours 

That were passed in the shade of our home's happy. 

bow'rs, 
"When the wealth that we sought for was only wild 
flow'rs, 
And we thought ourselves rich when we found them? 
Oh! where's the tie that friends e'er knew, 
So free from stain, so firm, so true, 
As links that with the wild flowers grew, 
And in sweet fetters bound them ? 



THE LAND OF DREAMS.* 



There is a land were Fancy's twining 

Her flowers around life's faded tree ; 
Where light is ever softly shining. 

Like sunset o'er a tranquil sea; 
'Tis there thou dwell'st in beauty's brightness, 

More fair than aught on earth e'er seems, 
'Tis there my heart feels most of lightness. 

There — in the lovely Land of Dreams. 

'Tis there in groves I often meet thee, 

And wander through the silent shade. 
While I, in gentlest accents, greet thee. 

My own, my sweet, my constant maid ! 
There, by some fountain fair, reposing. 

While all around so tranquil seems, 
We wait the golden evening's closing. 

There — in the lovely Land of Dreams. 

But when the touch of earthly waking 
Hath broken slumber's sweetest spell, 

Those fairy joys of fancy's making 
Are in my heart remembered well. 

* From the novel of Rory O'More. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

The day, in all its sunshine splendor, 
Less dear to me than midnight seems, 

When visions shed a light more tender 
Around the lovely Land of Dreams ! 



h 



JESSIE. 

♦ 

Sw^EET Jessie was young and simple, 

And mirth beam'd in her eye, 
And her smile made a rosy dimple 

Where love might wish to lie ; 
But when lovers Avere sighing after. 

And vowed she was matchless fair, 
Her silver-sounding laughter. 

Said, love had not been there. 

The summer had seen her smiling, 

'Mong flowers as fair as she. 
But autumn beheld her sighing. 

When the leaves fell from the tree ; 
And the light of her eye was shaded, 

And her brow had a cast of care, 
And the rose on her cheek was faded, 

For, oh! love had been there. 

When winter winds were blowing, 

She roved by the stormy shore. 
And looked o'er the angry ocean. 

And shrunk at the breakers' roar ; 
And her sighs, and her tearful wonder. 

At the perils that sailors dare. 
In the storm and the battle's thunder, 

Showed love was trembling there. 

No ring is upon her finger. 
And the raven locks are gray, 



54 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Yet traces of beauty linger, 

Like the light of the parting day; 

She looks, with a glance so tender, 
On a locket of golden hair. 

And a tear to his ship's defender, 
Shows love's own dwelling there. 



THE HOUR I PASS WITH THEE. 



The hour I pass with thee, my love, 
Doth yield this heart the most delight, 
Oh! what on earth is half so bright 
As hours I pass with thee ? 
And, as the breeze, that fans the grove, 
Is perfumed by the fragrant flowers, 
So time can sweetness steal from hours 
I pass, my love, with thee ! 

When mem'ry o'er the distant past 
Pursues her course, with weary wing. 
The only joys she back can bring. 
Are hours I've pass'd w^ith thee ! 
And when, through future time, as fast 
Fond fancy steers, with hopeful pow'r, 
Her leading star is still the hour 
I've yet to pass with thee ! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 55 



THE ARAB. 



The interesting fact on which this ballad is founded, occurred to Mr. 
Davidson, the celebrated traveler, between Mount Sinai and Suez, on 
his overland return from India in 1829. — He related the story to me 
shortly before his leaving England on his last fatal journey to Timbuctoo. 

The noontide blaze on the desert fell, 
As the traveler reached the wished-for well ; 
But vain was the hope that had cheered him on, 
His hope in the desert — the waters — were gone. 

Fainting, he called on the holy Name, 
And swift o'er the desert an Arab came. 
And with him he brought of the blessed thing, 
That failed the poor traveler at the spring. 

" Drink!" said the Arab — " tho' I must fast, 
For half of my journey is not yet past, 
'Tis long ere my home and my children I see. 
But the crystal treasure I'll share with thee." 

" Nay," said the weary one; — " let me die, — 
For thou hast even more need than I ; — 
And children hast thou that are watching for thee, 
And I am a lone one — none watch for me." 

*^ Drink!" said the Arab. — " My children shall see 
Their father returning ; — fear not for me : — 
For He who hath sent me to thee this day 
Will watch over me in my desert way !" 



56 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



THE SUNSHINE OF THE HEART. 



The sunshine of the heart be mine 

That beams a charm around ; 
Where'er it sheds its ray divine, 
Is all enchanted ground! 
No fiend of care 
May enter there, 
Tho' Fate employ her art : — 

Her darkest powers all bow to thine. 
Bright sunshine of the heart! 

Beneath the splendor of thy ray 

How lovely all is made! 
Bright fountains in the desert play, 
And palm trees cast their shade ; 
Thy morning light 
Is rosy bright, 
And when thy beams depart, 

Still glows with charms thy latest ray, 
Sweet sunshine of the heart! 



'TIS SWEET TO REMEMBER. 



Oh! 'tis sweet to remember how brightly 

The days o'er us swiftly have flown. 
When the hearts that we prize beat as lightly. 

And fed upon hopes like our own ; 
When with grief we were scarcely acquainted. 

While joy was our own bosom friend ; 
Oh! days — wing'd too swiftly w^th pleasure, 

Ye are past — and our dream's at an end : 
Yet 'tis sweet to remember! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 57 

The walks, where we've roam'd without tiring; 

The songs — that together we've sung; 
The jest — to whose merry inspiring 

Our mingling of laughter hath rung. 
Oh! trifles like these become precious 

Embalm'd in the mem'ry of years! 
The smiles of the past so remember'd 

How often they waken our tears! 

Yet 'tis sweet to remember ! 



THE SLAVE TRADE. 



Written at the period of the "AboHtion"' question. 

When Venus first rose from the wave, 

Where of sea-foam they gracefully made her, 
Three cheers for the goddess they gave 

As she launch'd in her shell, the fair trader; 
But she, — an insurgent by birth, 

Unfetter'd by legal or grave trade, 
And defying our laws on the earth. 

So boldly embarked in the slave trade. 

O'er the world, from that hour of her birth, 

She carried her Slave Trade victorious ; 
And then, to her daughters of earth 

Entrusted the privilege glorious; 
" Unfetter'd," she cried, " never leave 

One slave to object to your brave trade. 
While you stand to your colors, believe 

You may always insist on your Slave Trade! 

" Oh ! 'tis glorious a heart to subdue. 
By the conquering light of your glances: 

By the smile that endangers a few, 

And the sigh that whole dozens entrances. 



58 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Unbind not a link of the chain, 

Stand by me each merry and grave maid ; 
Let senators thunder in vain — 

The ladies will still have their Slave Trade!" 



BRING ME THAT ANCIENT BOWL. 



Bring me that ancient bowl of wine, 

Bright as the ruby's blaze, 
Around its brim methinks still shine 

The smiles of former days! 
And thus, while to my lip it bears 

The treasures of the vine. 
Deeply my soul the transport shares 

From this old bowl of mine ! 

Bring me the harp, for mem'ry's sake : 

That harp of silent string — 
I long its slumbering chords to wake 

In strains I used to sing: 
And as I dream of that fair form, 

In youth adored — oh then. 
Once more I feel my heart grow warm, 

And sing of love again! 



WHEN AND WHERE. 



Written to a popular organ tune. 

" Oh tell me when and tell me where 
Am I to meet with thee, my fair?" 
"I'll meet thee in the secret night. 
When stars are beaming gentle light, 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 59 

Enough for love, but not too bright 
To tell who blushes there." 

"You've told me when, now tell me where. 

Am I to meet with thee, my fair?" 

"I'll meet thee in that lovely place, 

Where flow 'rets dwell in sweet embrace, 
And zephyr comes to steal a grace 

To shed on the midnight air." 

"You've told me when, and told me where. 
But tell me how I'll know thou'rt there?" 
"Thou'lt know it when I sing the lay 

That wandering boys on organs play, 

No lover, sure, can miss his way. 
When led by this signal air." 



SOFT ON THE EAR. 



Soft on the ear falls the serenade. 

When the calm evening is closing; 
Sweet are the echoes by music made. 
When the lake is in moonlight reposing: 
Hark, how the sound 
Circles around, — 
As if each note of the measure 
Was caught, as it fell, 
In some water-sprite's shell. 
Who floated away with the treasure. 

Soft on the ear, &c. 



> 



Soft on the ear falls the serenade 

When we guess who the soft strain is breathing; 
The spirit of song is more melting made. 

With the spirit of tenderness wreathing. 



60 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Oh, such the delight, 

In the calm summer's night. 

When thro' casements, half open, is stealing 
The soft serenade 
To the half-waking maid, 

Who sighs at each tender appealing. 

Soft on the ear, &c. 



TWAS LOVING THEE TOO WELL. 



Oh, frown not, lady, frown not so. 

On one whose heart is thine ; 
Let one kind word before I go. 

Let one one kind look be mine! 
An aching heart, while e'er I live. 

My fault shall deeply tell ; 
But oh! — 'twas one thou might'st forgive — 

'Twas loving thee too well. 

Oh! if that smile had been less sweet, 

That cheek less blooming been ; 
Those eyes less bright I used to meet, 

Or were those charms less seen ; 
Or if this heart had been too cold 

To feel thy beauty's spell, — 
Thou ne'er hadst called thy slave too bold, 

For loving thee too well ! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 61 



WHEN GENTLE MUSIC. 



When gentle music's sounding — 

Such as this ; 
'Tis sweet when friends surrounding 

Share our bliss : 
But love them as we may, 

We love them less, when near, 
Than when, through mem'ry's tear 
We view them — far away. 

When over deserts burning, 
Far we roam, 
'Tis sweet, at last, returning 

To our home : 
Be 't happy as it may. 

That home no bliss bestows 
So fairy-bright, as those 
We fancied when away. 
And when fond hearts are meeting. 

Beating high ; 
How sweet the brilliant greeting 

Of the eye! 
But tho' so bright its ray. 
To lovers far more dear 
Is the sad, the secret tear 
Shed for one — who's far away. 



62 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



HOW SWEET 'TIS TO RETURN. 



How sweet, how sweet 'tis to return 

Where once we've happy been, 
Tho' paler now life's lamp may burn. 

And years have roll'd between; 
And if the eyes beam welcome yet 

That wept our parting then. 
Oh ! in the smiles of friends thus met 

We live whole years again ! 

They tell us of a fount that flow'd 

In happier days of yore, 
Whose waters bright fresh youth bestow'd ; 

Alas! the fount's no more. 
But smiling Memory still appears, 

Presents her cup, and when 
We sip the sweets of vanish'd years. 

We live those years again. 



SONG OF THE SPANISH PEASANT. 



How oft have we met 

Where the gay Castanet 
In the sprightly fandango was sounding; 
Where no form seem'd so light. 
Nor no eye beamed so bright 

As thine, my Loren^a, to me; 
Though many surrounding. 

Were lovely as maidens might be. 
In form and in face, — 
Oh! they wanted the grace 

That ever is playing round thee. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 63 

My pretty brunette, 

Canst thou ever forget, 
How I trembled, lest hope should deceive me ? 
When under the shade 
By the orange grove made, 

I whisper'd my passion to thee ? 
And oh. Love! believe me. 

Like that ever-blossoming tree,* 
Thro' sunshine and shade. 
In this heart, dearest maid. 

Is love ever blooming for thee. 



THE HAPPIEST TIME IS NOW. 



Talk not to me of future bliss! 

Talk not to me of joys gone by! 
For us, the happiest hour is this, 

When love bids time to fly. 
The future — doubt may overcast. 

To shadow hope's young brow; 
Oblivion's veil may shroud the past, 

The happiest time is now! 

Tho' flowers, in spicy vases thrown, 

Some odor yet exhale ; 
Their fragrance, ere the bloom was flown, 

Breathed sweeter on the gale : 
Like faded flowers, each parted bliss 

Let memory keep — but how 
Can joy that's past be like to this? 

The happiest time is now! 

Unmark'd our course before us lies 
O'er time's eternal tide; 

* The orange-tree blossoms through the whole year. 



64 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

And soon the sparkling ripple dies 
We raise, as on we glide ; 

Our barks the brightest bubbles fling 
For ever from their prow ; — 

Then let us gayly sail and sing, 
" The happiest time is now!" 



THE SILENT FAREWELL. 



In silence we parted, for neither could speak! 
But the tremulous lip and the fast-fading cheek 
To both were betraying what neither could tell — 
How deep was the pang of that silent farewell. 

There are signs — ah ! the slightest, that love understands. 
In the meeting of eyes — in the parting of hands ; 
In the quick-breathing sighs that of deep passion tell — 
Oh! such were the signs of our silent farewell! 

There's a language more glowing, love teachesthe tongue, 
Than poet e'er dreamed, or than minstrel e'er sung; 
But oh! far beyond all such language could tell. 
The love that was told in that silent farewell ! 



'TIS TIME TO FLY. 



Beware the chain love's wreathing, 
When some sweet voice you hear, 

W^hose gentlest, simplest breathing 
Is music to thine ear: 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 65 

And when in glances fleeting, 

Some deep and speaking eye 
With thine is often meeting, 

Oh then — 'tis time to fly! 

If there be form of lightness 

To which thine eyes oft stray. 
Or neck of snowy brightness — 

Remember'd — when away; 
These symptoms love resemble. 

And when some hand is nigh. 
Whose touch doth make thee tremble, 

Oh then — 'tis time to fly! 

But if that voice of sweetness, 

Like echo, still return; 
And if that eye of brightness 

With fascination burn ; 
To 'scape thou art not able. 

No effort vainly try. 
For, like the bird in fable, 

Alas! thou canst not fly! 



MOLLY CAREW. 



OcH hone! and what will I do? 

Sure my love is all crost 

Like a bud in the frost ; 
And there's no use at all in my going to bed. 
For 'tis dhrames and not sleep that comes into my head. 

And 'tis all about you. 

My sweet Molly Carew — 
And indeed 'tis a sin and a shame! 

You're complater than Nature 

In every feature, 
5 



66 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

The snow can't compare 

With your forehead so fair, 
And I rather would see just one blink of your eye 
Than the prettiest star that shines out of the sky ; 

And by this and by that, 

For the matter o' that, 
You're more distant by far than that same! 

Och hone! weirasthru! 
I'm alone in this world without you. 

Och hone ! but why should I spake 

Of your forehead and eyes, 

When your nose it defies 
Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in rhyme, 
The' there's one Burke, he says, that would call it snub- 
lime, — 

And, then for your cheek! 

Troth, 'twould take him a week 
Its beauties to tell, as he'd rather. 

Then your lips! oh, machree! 

In their beautiful glow. 

They a pattern might be 

For the cherries to grow. 
'Twas an apple that tempted our mother, we know, 
For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago. 

But at this time o' day, 

'Pon my conscience I'll say. 
Such cherries might tempt a man's father! 

Och hone! weirasthru! 
I'm alone in this world without you. 

Och hone! by the man in the moon, 
You taze me all ways 
That a w^oman can plaze. 
For you dance twice as high with that thief, Pat Magee, 
As when you take share of a jig, dear, with me, 
Tho' the piper I bate. 
For fear the owld chate 
Wouldn't play your' favorite tune. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 6t 

And when you're at mass, 

My devotion you crass, 

For 'tis thinking of you, 

I am, Molly Carew, 
While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep, 
That I can't at your sweet purty face get a peep ; 

Oh, lave off that bonnet. 

Or else I'll lave on it, 
The loss of my wandherin' sowl! 

Och hone! weirasthru! 

Och hone! like an owl. 
Day is night, dear, to me, without you! 

Och hone ! don't provoke me to do it ; 

For there's girls by the score 

That loves me — -and more. 
And you'd look very quare if some morning you'd meet 
My wedding all marching in pride down the street. 

Troth, you'd open your eyes, 

And you'd die with surprise 
To think 'twasn't you was come to it! 

And faith, Katty Naile, 

And her cow, I go bail. 

Would jump if I'd say 
"Katty Naile, name the day." 
And tho' you're fair and fresh as a morning in May, 
While she's short and dark like a cold winter's day, 

Yet if you don't repent 

Before Easter, when Lent 
Is over, I'll marry for spite! 

Och hone! weirasthru! 

And when I die for you, 
My ghost will haunt you every night! 



6$ LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



THE LADY'S HAND. 



To horse! to horse! the trumpet sings, 

'Midst clank of spear and shield ; 
The knight into his saddle springs, 

And rushes to the field; 
A lady look'd from out her bow'r, 

A stately knight drew near, 
And from her snowy hand she dropt 

Her glove upon his spear; 
He placed it on his helmet's crest 

And join'd the gallant band ; 
"The lady's glove but now is mine. 

But soon I'll win the hand!" 

Above the plunging tide of fight 

Their plumes now dance like spray ; 
And many a crest of note and might 

Bore proudly through the fray ; 
But still the little glove was seen 

The foremost of the band, 
And deadly blows the fiercest fell 

From that fair lady's hand ; 
Before him every foeman flies ! 

His onset none can stand! 
More fatal e'en than lady's eyes 

Was that fair lady's hand. 

And now the trumpet sounds retreat, 

The foeman droops his crest ; 
The fight is past — the sun has set. 

And all have sunk to rest — 
Save one — who spurs his panting steed 

Back from the conquering band. 
And he who won the lady's glove. 

Now claims the lady's hand. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 69 

'Tis won— 'tis won ! — that gallant knight 

Is proudest in the land: — 
Oh! what can nerve the soldier's arm 

Like hope of lady's hand! 



MY GENTLE LUTE. 



My gentle lute, alone with thee, 

I wake thy saddest tone ; 
It seems as if thou mourn'st with me 

For hours of gladness gone. 
If, haply, 'mongst thy wailing strings 

My finger lightly fall. 
Some vision of the past it brings — 

Of days we can't recall. 

My gentle lute, how oft have we 

Beneath the moonlight ray. 
To beauty's ear breath'd harmony 

In many a love-taught lay! 
But she w^ho loved — and he who sung 

Are changed, my lute, and thou 
That oft to lays of love hath rung, 

Must tell of sorrow now. 

Some happier hand in future hours 

May wake thy liveliest string. 
And wreathe thee o'er, my lute, with flow'rs 

As I did — in my spring. 
But yield, till then, before we part. 

Thy saddest tone to me. 
And let thy mourning master's heart 

An echo find in thee. 



70 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



THE ANGEL'S WING. 



There is a German superstition, that when a sudden silence takes 
place in a company, an angel at that moment makes a circuit among 
them, and the first person who breaks the silence is supposed to have 
been touched by the wing of the passing seraph. For the purposes of 
poetry, I thought two persons preferable to many, in illustrating this 
very beautiful superstition. 

When by the evening's quiet light 

There sit two silent lovers, 
They say, while in such tranquil plight, 

An angel round them hovers ; 
And further still old legends tell, — 
The first w^ho breaks the silent spell, 
To say a soft and pleasing thing, 
Hath felt the passing Angel's wing. 

Thus, a musing minstrel stray'd 

By the summer ocean, 
Gazing on a lovely maid, 

With a bard's devotion: — 
Yet his love he never spoke. 
Till now the silent spell he broke ; — 
The hidden fire to flame did spring, 
Fann'd by the passing Angel's wing! 

"I have loved thee well and long. 

With love of Heaven's own making! — 
This is not a poet's song, 

But a true heart's speaking. — 
I will love thee, still, untired !" 
He felt — he spoke — as one inspired — 
The words did from Truth's fountain spring, 
Upwaken'd by the Angel's wing! 

Silence o'er the maiden fell. 
Her beauty lovelier making ; — 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 71 

And by her blush, he knew full well 

The dawn of love was breaking. 
It came like sunshine o'er his heart! 
He felt that they should never part ; 
She spoke — and oh ! — the lovely thing 
Had felt the passing Angel's wing. 



WHO ARE YOU? 



" There are very impudent people in London," said a country cousin 
of mine in 1837. "As I walked down the Strand, a fellow stared at me 
and shouted, ' Who are you V Five minutes after, another, passing me, 
cried ' Flare up ;' — but a civil gentleman, close to his heels, kindly asked 
' How is your mother V " 

" Who are you ? — who are you? 

Little boy that's running after 
Every one up and down, 

Mingling sighing with your laughter ?" 
" I am Cupid, lady belle, 

I am Cupid and no other." 
" Little boy, then pr'ythee tell 

How is Venus ? — How^s your mother 9 
Little boy, little boy, 

I desire you tell me true, 
Cupid, oh! you're alter'd so. 

No wonder I cry Who are you9 

"Who are you? — who are you? 
Little boy, where is your bowi* 
You had a bow, my little boy- 



" So had you, ma'am, — long ago. 
" Little boy, where is your torch?" 

"Madam, I have given it up : 
Torches are no use at all, 

Hearts will never now flare up.^^ 



>) 
)> 



72 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

" Naughty boy, naughty boy, 
Such words as these I never knew : 

Cupid, oh! you're alter'd so. 

No wonder I say Who are youV^ 



MARCH! 

— ♦ — 

The song of the month, from Bentley's Miscellany for 1837. 

March, March! — Why the de'il don't you march 

Faster than other months out of your order? 
You're a horrible beast, with the wind from the East, 

And high-hopping hail and slight sleet on your border : 
Now, our umbrellas spread, flutter above our head, 

And will not stand to our arms in good order; 
While, flapping and tearing, they set a man swearing. 

Round the corner where blasts blow away half the 
border ! 

March, March ! — I am ready to faint. 

That St. Patrick had not his nativity's casting; 
I am sure, if he had, such a peaceable lad 

Would have never been born amid blowing and blasting: 
But as it was his fate. Irishmen emulate 

Doing what Doom or St. Paddy may order; 
And if they're forced to fight through their wrongs for 
their right. 

They'll stick to their flag while a thread's in its border. 

March, March! — Have you no feeling. 

E'en for the fair sex who make us knock under? 
You cold-blooded divil, you're far more uncivil 

Than Summer himself with his terrible thunder! 
Every day we meet ladies down Regent Street, 

Holding their handkerchiefs up in good order ; 
But, do all that we can, the most merciful man 

Must see the blue noses peep over the border. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 73 



MORNING, SWEET MORNING. 



Morning, sweet morning, I welcome thy ray, 
Life opens bright like the op'ning of day. 
Waking to fragrance the fresh-blooming flow'rs, 
Lighting with sunshine our earliest hours; 
Evening, with shadows, is hurrying on. 
Let us be gay ere the noontide be gone : — 
For shadows increase, as the sunshine grows less ; 
Then gather the joys that our youth may possess! 
Oh! morning, sweet morning, I welcome thy ray, 
Life opens bright, like the op'ning of day! 

The dew on the rose-bud at morning may lie. 
And tear-drops will tremble in youth's sparkling eye, 
But soon as the sun sheds his warmth and his light. 
The dew-drops all vanish — the flow'rets are bright. 
But, at cold evening, the dew falling fast. 
Will rest on the rose — for the sunshine is past: — 
And the tear-drop of age will be lingering thus, 
WTien the sunshine of soul hath departed from us. 
Oh! morning, sweet morning, I welcome thy ray, 
Life opens bright like the op'ning of day! 



LOVE ME ! 



Love me! Love me! — dearest, love me! 

Let whate'er betide ; 
Though it be forbid by fate 

To bless me with a bride : 
Our hearts may yet be link'd in one 

Though fortune frown above me. 
That hope will gently guide me on, 

Then love me, dearest! Love me! 



74 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Love me, dearest! Dearest, love me! 

Brighter days may shine ; 
When thou shalt call me all thine own, 

And thou'lt be only mine ! 
But should that bliss be still denied. 

Still fortune frown above me, 
Thou'lt be my choice — though not my bride, 

Then love me, dearest! Love me! 



SERENADE. 



Hark to my lute sweetly ringing! 

List, love, to me; 
Dearest, thy lover is singing — 

Singing to thee ; — 
Yet, to the balcony stealing. 

No mantled beauty I see, 
No casement is dimly revealing 

Thy fair form to me. 

Perchance thou art sleeping — my strain, love, 

Meets not thine ear. 
And visions, in shadowy train, love. 

Haply appear. 
Wake thee ! and harken to me, love. 

If Fancy should whisper of ill ; 
But if thy dream be of me, love. 

Oh! slumber still. 

Their bright watch in Heaven, now keeping 

Beams ev'ry star; 
But the sweet eye that is sleeping 

Brighter is far: — 
For when the pale dawn advances 

Tremulous star fires decay, 
While e'en at noontide thy glance is 

Bright as the day. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 75 



VICTORIA THE aUEEN. 



All hail to the queen of the fair and the brave! 

Let the bold song of joy reach the skies! 
Bright, bright o'er the foam of her own subject wave 

See the star of Victoria arise ! 
Young queen of the ocean, prophetic our fire 

To hail thee the greatest we've seen, 
Hark! the thundering strain of the old sea-god's quire 

To welcome Victoria the queen! 

May years full of honor and loyalty's love 

Be thine in thy place of renown ; 
To say that we honor thee, means not enough : 

For Britons all honor the crown. 
But the crown that encircles young beauty's fair brow, 

With fonder devotion is seen. 
And chivalry sheds its romance o'er the vow 

We pledge to Victoria the queen ! 
Long, long, royal maid, may the olive entwine 

With the laurels that circle thy crown ; 
But if war should arouse the old Lion again, 

'Twill be to increase thy renown : 
To battle while rushing, each heart would beat high 

To triumph, as wont we have been. 
Propitious to conquest our bold battle-cry, 
" Victoria for England's fair queen!" 



76 LEGENDARY BALLADS, 



SONG OF THE ITALIAN TROUBADOUR. 

A TROUBADOUR gay from the Southland came forth, 
And knelt to a golden-hair'd maid of the North, 
*^ Farewell to the Southland, for ever," said he, 
"I regret not my country while list'ning to thee; 
For thy voice, like an echo from Fairyland seems, 
A voice made to waken a bard from his dreams ; — 
That might blend with his visions in regions of bliss. 
And make him forget that he wakened in this; 
Then farewell to the Southland, the Northland for me, 
'Tis my country, wherever I'm list'ning to thee ! 

^'And as I look up in thy beautiful eyes. 

How can I but think of my own sunny skies ? 

While thy bright golden ringlets, in love-mazing twine, 

Outrival the tendrils that curl round the vine ! 

Then thy form, in its exquisite lightness, recalls 

The statues I've left in fair Italy's halls ; 

And can I regret them, while looking on thee? 

No ! no ! thou art more than my country to me ! 

Then farewell to the Southland, the Northland for me, 

'Tis my country wherever I'm looking on thee !" 



THE CHILD AND THE AUTUMN LEAF. 
— ♦ — 
Down by the river's bank I stray'd. 

Upon an autumn day; 
Beside the fading forest there, 

I saw a child at play. 
She play'd among the yellow^ leaves — 
The leaves that once w^ere green. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 77 

And flung upon the passing stream 

What once had blooming been : 
Oh! deeply did it touch my heart 

To see that child at play ; 
It was the sweet unconscious sport 

Of childhood with decay. # 

Fair child, if by this stream you stray, 

When sifter years go by, 
The scene that makes thy childhood's sport, 

May wake thy age's sigh : 
When fast you see around you fall 

The summer's leafy pride. 
And mark the river hurrying on 

Its ne'er returning tide; 
Then may you feel in pensive mood 

That life's a summer dream; 
And man, at last, forgotten falls — 

A leaf upon the stream. 



FATHER LAND AND iMOTHER TONGUE. 

— ♦ — 

Our Father land! and would'st thou know 

Why we should call it Father land? 
It is, that Adam here below. 

Was made of earth by Nature's hand; 
And he, our father, made of earth, 

Hath peopled earth on ev'ry hand. 
And we, in memory of his birth. 

Do call our country, "Father land." 

At first, in Eden's bowers they say. 
No sound of speech had Adam caught. 

But whistled like a bird all day — 

And may be, 'twas for want of thought : 



78 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

But Nature, with resistless laws, 
Made Adam soon surpass the birds, 

She gave him lovely Eve — because 
If he'd a wife — they must have words. 

And so the Native Land I hold. 

By male descent is proudly mine ; 
The Language, as the tale hath told, 

Was given in the female line. 
And thus, we see, on either hand. 

We name our blessings whence they've sprung, 
We call our country Father land. 

We call our language Mother tongue. 



MY MOUNTAIN HOME. 



My mountain home! My mountain home! 

Dear are thy hills to me! 
Where first my childhood lov'd to roam — 

Wild, as the summer bee : 
The summer bee may gather sweet 

From flow'rs in sunny prime ; 
And mem'ry brings, with wing as fleet, 

Sweet thoughts of early time : 
Still fancy bears me to the hills. 

Where childhood lov'd to roam — 
I hear — I see your sparkling rills, 

My own, my mountain home! 

I've seen their noble forests wide, 

I've seen their smiling vale ; 
Where proudly rolls the silver tide 

That bears their glorious sail : — 
But these are of the earth below; 

Our home is in the sky ! « 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 79 

The eagle's flight is not more bright 

Than paths that we may try! 
While all around sweet echoes ring, 

Beneath heaven's azure dome; — 
Then, well the mountaineer may sing 
"My own, my mountain home!" 



THE HOUR BEFORE DAY. 



There is a beautiful saying arnongst the Irish peasantry to inspire hope 
under adverse circumstances. — "Remember," they say, "that the darkest 
hour of all, is the hour before day." 

Bereft of his love, and bereaved of his fame, 
A knight to the cell of the old hermit came ; 
"My foes they have slander'd and forced me to fly, 
Oh, tell me, good father, what's left but to die?" 
"Despair not, my son; — thou'lt be righted ere long — ■ 
For Heaven is above us to right all the wrong ! 
Remember the words the old hermit doth say, — 
* 'Tis always the darkest, the hour before day!' 

" Then back to the tourney and back to the court, 

And join thee, the bravest, in chivalry's sport ; 

Thy foes will be there — and thy lady-love too. 

And show hoth^ thou'rt a knight that is gallant and true !" 

He rode in the lists — all his foes he o'erthrew. 

And a sweet glance he caught from a soft eye of blue. 

And he thought of the words the old hermit did say, 

For her glance was as bright as the dawning of day. 

The feast it was late in the castle that night, 

And the banquet was beaming with beauty and light; 

But brightest of all is the lady who glides 

To the porch where a knight with a fleet courser bides. 



80 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

She paused 'neath the arch, at the fierce ban dog's bark, 
She trembled to look on the night — 'twas so dark ; 
But her lover, he whisper'd — and thus did he say, 
"Sweet love, it is darkest, the hour before day." 



'TWAS THE DAY OF THE FEAST. 



When the annual tribute of the flag of Waterloo to the crown of Eng- 
land, was made to William the Fourth, a few hours before his Majesty's 
lamented death ; on receiving the banner, the king pressed it to his 
heart, saying, " It was a glorious day for England;" and. expressed a 
wish he might survive the day, that the Duke of Wellington's comme- 
moration fete of the Victory of Waterloo might take place. A dying 
monarch receiving the banner, commemorative of a national conquest, 
and wishing, at the same time, that his death might not disturb the 
triumphal banquet, is at once so heroic and poetic, that it naturally sug- 
gests a poem. 

'TwAS the day of the feast in the chieftain's hall, 
'Twas the day he had seen the foeman fall, 
'Twas the day that his country's valor stood 
'Gainst steel and fire, and the tide of blood. 
And the day was mark'd by his country w^ell — 
For they gave him broad valleys, the hill and the dell, 
And they ask'd, as a tribute, the hero should bring 
The flag of the foe to the foot of the king. 

'Twas the day of the feast in the chieftain's hall, 
And the banner was brought at the chieftain's call ; 
And he went in his glory the tribute to bring. 
And lay at the foot of the brave old king; 
But the hall of the king w^as in silence and grief. 
And smiles, as of old, did not greet the chief; 
For he came on the angel of victory's wdng. 
While the angel of death was awaiting the king. 

The chieftain he knelt by the couch of the king; 
" I know," said the monarch, "the tribute you br 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 81 

Give me the banner, ere life depart;" 

And he press'd the flag to his fainting heart. 

" It is joy, ev'n in death," cried the monarch, "to say 

That my country hath known such a glorious day! 

Heaven grant I may live till the midnight's fall. 

That my chieftain may feast in his warrior hall!" 



SECRETS WERE NOT MEANT FOR THREE, 



Come with me where violets lie, 

Like thine eye — hidden deep 
When their lurking glances blue 

Thro' long lashes peep ; 
There, amid the perfume sweet, 

Wafted on the balmy breeze, 
Shelter'd by the secret shade 

Beneath the whisp'ring trees, 
Whisp'ring there would I be too — 
I've a secret, meant for you. 
Sweeter than the wild bee's hum — 
Will you come ? 

Come not when the day is bright, 

But at night, when the moon 
Lights the grove, where nightingales 

Sing the lover's tune : — 
But sweeter than the silver song 

That fair Philomel doth sing — 
Sweeter than the fragrance fresh 

The flowers round us fling — 
Sweeter than the poet's dream 
By Castalia's gifted stream, 
Is the tale I'll tell to thee— 
Come with me ! 



82 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



MY MOTHER DEAR 

— ♦ — 
There was a place in childhood that I remember well, 
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did 

tell, 
And gentle words and fond nembrace were giv'n with joy 

to me. 
When I was in that happy place, — upon my mother's 

knee. 

When fairy tales were ended, " Good-night," she softly 

said. 
And kiss'd, and laid me down to sleep within my tiny 

bed; 
And holy words she taught me there — methinks I yet 

can see 
Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my mother's knee. 

In the sickness of my childhood ; the perils of my prime ; 

The sorrows of my riper years; the cares of ev'ry time; 

When doubt and danger weighed me down — then plead- 
ing all for me. 

It was a fervent pray'r to Heaven that bent my mother's 
knee. 



THE MEETING OF FOES AND THE MEETING OF 

FRIENDS. 



Fill the cup! fill it high! Let us drink to the might 
Of the manhood that joyously rushes to fight; 
And, true to the death, all unflinching will stand. 
For our home, and our hearth, and our own native land ! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 83 

'Tis the bright sun of June, that is gilding the crest 
Of the warriors that fight for their isles of the West ; 
The breeze that at morning but plays with the plume, 
At evening may wave the red grass o'er the tomb ; 
The corn that has ripen'd in summer's soft breath, 
In an hour may be reap'd in the harvest of death : 
Then drink to their glory — the glory of those 
Who triumph'd or fell in that meeting of foes. 

But fill the cup higher to drink to the friends 

Bound fast in affection that life only ends; 

Whose hearths, when defended from foes that have dared. 

Are prized all the more when with friends they are shared ! 

Far better the wine-cup with ruby may flow. 

To the health of a friend than the fall of a foe ; 

Tho' bright are the laurels that glory may twine. 

Far softer the shade of the ivy and vine : — 

Then fill the cup higher! The battle is won — 

Our perils are over — our feast has begun! — 

On the meeting of foemen, pale sorrow attends : — 

Rosy joy crowns our meeting — the meeting of friends ! 



MOLLY BAWN. 



I. 

O Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, 

All lonely waiting here for you ? 
The stars above are brightly shining, 

Because — they've nothing else to do. 
The flowers, late, were open keeping. 

To try a rival blush with you. 
But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping 

With their rosy faces wash'd — with dew. 
Molly, &c. 



84 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

II. 

Now, the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear, 

And the pretty stars were made to shine, 
And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear. 

And may be you were made for mine ! 
The wicked watch-dog here is snarling — 

He takes me for a thief, you see ; 
Faith, he knows Pd steal you, Molly darling — 

And then transported I should be. 

O Molly, &c. 



THE BIRTH OF ST. PATRICK, 



I. 

On the eighth day of March it was, some people say. 
That Saint Patrick at midnight he first saw the day ; 
While others declare 'twas the ninth he was born. 
And 'twas all a mistake between midnight and morn: 
For mistakes will occur in a hurry and shock. 
And some blamed the baby — and some blamed the 

clock — 
'Till with all their cross questions sure no one could 

know 
If the child was too fast — or the clock was too slow. 

II. 

Now the first faction fight in owld Ireland, they say, 

Was all on account of Saint Patrick's birth-day, 

Some fought for the eighth — for the ninth more would 

die. 
And who wouldn't see right, sure they blacken'd his eye ! 
At last, both the factions so positive grew. 
That each kept a birth-day, so Pat then had two^ 
'Till Father Mulcahy, who showed them their sins, 
Said, "No one could have two birth-days, but a twins,^^ 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 85, 

III. 

Says he, " Boys, don't be fighting for eight or for nine, 
Don't be always dividing — but sometimes combine ; 
Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark. 
So let that be his birth-day" — "Amen," says the clerk. 
" If he wasn't a twins, sure our hist'ry will show — 
That, at least, he's worth any two saints that we know!" 
Then they all got blind drunk — which completed their 

bliss. 
And we keep up the practice from that day to this. 



THERE'S NO SUCH GIRL AS MINE. 



I. 

Oh there's no such girl as mine 

In all the wide world round; 
With her hair of golden twine, 

And her voice of silver sound. 
And her eyes are as black as the sloes. 

And quick is her ear so fine, 
And her breath is as sweet as the rose, 

There's no such girl as mine! 

II. 

Her spirit so sweetly flows. 

Unconscious winner of hearts. 
There's a smile wherever she goes. 

There's a sigh whenever she parts ; 
A blessing she wins from the poor. 

To court her the rich all incline, 
She's welcome at every door — 

there's no such girl as mine! 



86 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

III. 

She's light to the banquet hall, 

She's balm to the couch of care. 
In sorrow — in mirth — in all — 

She takes her own sweet share. 
Enchanting the many abroad, 

At home doth she brightest shine, 
'Twere endless her worth to laud — 

There's no such girl as mine! 



WHISPER LOW. 



I. 

In days of old, when first I told 

A tale so bold, my love, to thee. 
In falt'ring voice I sought thy choice. 

And did rejoice thy blush to see ; 
With downcast eyes, I heard thy sighs. 

And hope reveal'd her dawn to me. 
As soft and slow, wdth passion's glow, 

I whisper'd low my love to thee. 

II. 

The cannon loud, in deadly breach. 

May thunder on the shrinking foe; 
'Tis anger is but loud of speech — 

The voice of love is soft and low. 
The tempest's shout, the battle's rout, 

Make havoc wild we weep to see; 
But summer wind, and friends when kind. 

All whisper low, as I to thee. 

III. 

Now gallants gay in pride of youth. 
Say, would you win the fair one's ear, 

Your votive pray'r be short, and sooth. 
And whisper low, and she will hear. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 87 

The matin bell may loudly tell 

The bridal morn, when all may hear; 

But at the time of vesper chime 
Oh whisper low in beauty's ear. 



THE PILGRIM HARPER. 
— • — 

I. 

The night was cold and dreary — no star was in the sky, 
When, travel-tired and weary, the harper raised his cry; 
He raised his cry without the gate, his night's repose to 

win, 
And plaintive was the voice that cried, "Ah, won't you 

let me in?" 

II. 

The portal soon was open'd, for in the land of song. 
The minstrel at the outer gate yet never linger'd long; 
And inner doors were seldom closed 'gainst wand'rers 

such as he. 
For locks or hearts to open soon, sweet music is the key. 

III. 

But if gates are oped by melody, so grief can close them 

fast, 
And sorrow o'er that once bright hall its silent spell had 

cast; 
All undisturb'd the spider there, his web might safely 

spin. 
For many a day no festive lay — no harper was let in. 

IV. 

But when this harper enter'd, and said he came from far, 
And bore w^ith him from Palestine the tidings of the war, 
And he could tell of all who fell, or glory there did win, 
The warder knew his noble dame would let ^Aa^ harper in. 



88 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

V. 

They led him to the bower, the lady knelt in prayer ; 
The harper rais'd a well-known lay upon the turret stair ; 
The door was oped with hasty hand, true love its meed 

did win, 
For the lady saw her own true knight, when that harper 

was let in! 



GRIEF IS MINE. 

— ♦ — 

I. 

Grief is mine, since thou art gone, 

Thou, my love, my secret one, 

I hide my thoughts, and weep alone. 

That none may hear or see ; 
But grief, tho' silent, tells its tale : 
They watch my cheek, and see 'tis pale : 
But the cheek may fade, and the heart ne'er fail — 

I will still be true to thee. 

Sual, sual, a-run* 

II. 

Oh ! give me wings, sweet bird of air. 

Soaring aloft in the bright clouds there ; 

There is hope in Heaven — on the earth is despair- 

Oh ! that a bird I were ! 
'Tis then I would seek my place of rest, 
And fly unto my loved one's breast, 
Within his heart to make my nest. 

And dwell for ever there. 

Sual, sual, a-run. 

* Pronounced Shule aroon — signifying — " Come, my secret one." 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 89 



THE MOUNTAIN DEW. 

— • — • 
I. 

By yon mountain tipp'd with cloud, 
By the torrent foaming loud, 
By the dingle where the purple bells of heather grew, 
Where the Alpine flow'rs are hid. 
And where bounds the nimble kid, 
There we've wandered both together through the 
mountain dew. 
With what delight in summer's night we trod the twilight 

gloom. 
The air so full of fragrance from the flow'rs so full of 

bloom. 
And our hearts so full of joy — for aught else there was 
no room. 
As we wander'd both together through the mountain 
dew. 

11. 

Those sparkling gems that rest 
On the mountain's flow'ry breast. 
Are like the joys we number — they are bright and few, 
For a while to earth are given. 
And are called again to heaven. 
When the spirit of the morning steals the mountain 
dew. 
But memory, angelic, makes a heaven on earth for men. 
Her rosy light recalleth bright the dew-drops back again; 
The warmth of love exhales them from that well-remem- 
ber'd glen. 
Where we wander'd both together through the moun- 
tain dew. 



90 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



THE WEDDING OF THE ADRIATIC. 



I. 

Mark! Lady, mark, 
Yon gilded bark 

Beareth a duke in pride ; 
His costly ring, 
Bravely to fling, 

And make the sea his bride. 
Proud of her lord 
All ocean smiles. 
And with soft waves 
Kisses our isles. 

While her own mirror gorgeously 
Doubles the pomp she loves to see. 

11. 

Vain is thy pride 
Seeking a bride. 

In the cold faithless sea. 
Why wouldst thou throw 
Rich gems below. 

She will be false to thee. 
Dearer I hold 

Plain rings of gold 
Binding two hearts 

Ne'er growing cold. 
Proud lord, if thou hast rule o'er the sea. 
Vast as the ocean true love can be. 
Vain is thy pride, 
Seeking a bride 

In the cold faithless sea. 
Mine be the ring 

True love can bring — 

Such be the ring for thee ! 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 91 



GONDOLIER, ROW! 



I. 

Gondolier, row ! row !. 

How swift the flight 

Of time to-night, 
But the gondolier so slow- 
Gondolier, row! row! 

The night is dark — 

So speed thy bark 
To the balcony we know. 

II. 
Gondolier, row! row! 

One star is bright 

With trembling light — 
And the light of love is so. 
Gondolier, row! row! 

The watery way 

Will not betray 
The path to where we go. 



CUPID'S WING. 

• — ♦ — 
I. 

The dart of love was feathered first 
From Folly's wing, they say, 

Until he tried his shaft to shoot 
In Beauty's heart one day; 

He miss'd the maid so oft, 'tis said, 
His aim became untrue, 



92 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

And Beauty laugh'd as his last shaft 

He from his quiver drew; 
"In vain," said she, "you shoot at me, 

You little spiteful thing — 
The feather on your shaft I scorn. 

When pluck'd from Folly's wing." 

II. 

But Cupid soon fresh arrows found, 

And fitted to his string. 
And each new shaft he feather'd from 

His own bright glossy wing ; 
He shot until no plume was left. 

To waft him to the sky. 
And Beauty smiled upon the child, 

When he no more could fly : 
" Now Cupid, I am thine," she said, 

" Leave off thy archer play. 
For Beauty yields — when she is sure 

Love will not fly away.' 



5? 



I CAN NE'ER FORGET THEE. 



I. 

It is the chime ; the hour draws near 

When you and I must sever; 
Alas, it must be many a year. 

And it may be for ever. 
How long till we shall meet again: 

How short since first I met thee ; 
How brief the bliss — how long the pain- 

For I can ne'er forget thee. 

II. 

You said my heart was cold and stern ; 
You doubted love when strongest : 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 93 

In future years you'll live to learn 

Proud hearts can love the longest. 
Oh! sometimes think when press'd to hear, 

When flippant tongues beset thee, 
That all must love thee when thou'rt near; 

But one will ne'er forget thee! 

III. 
The changeful sand doth only know 

The shallow tide and latest : 
The rocks have marked its highest flow, 

The deepest and the greatest; 
And deeper still the flood-marks grow: — 

So, since the hour I met thee. 
The more the tide of time doth flow, 

The less can I forget thee ! 



THE SNOW. 



I. 

An old man sadly said, 

Where's the snow 
That fell the year that's fled? — 

Where's the snow? 
As fruitless were the task 
Of many a joy to ask. 

As the snow. 

11. 

The hope of airy birth, 

Like the snow. 
Is stained on reaching earth. 

Like the snow: 
While 'tis sparkling in the ray 
'Tis melting fast away, 

Like the snow. 



94 LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

III. 
A cold deceitful thing 

Is the snow, 
Though it come on dove-like wing- 

The false snow! 
'Tis but rain disguis'd appears ; 
And our hopes are frozen tears — 

Like the snow. 



WHEN THE SUN SINKS TO REST. 



I. 

When the sun sinks to rest, 
And the star of the West 

Sheds its soft silver light o'er the sea, 
What sweet thoughts arise. 
As the dim twilight dies — 

For then I am thinking of thee ! 
Oh ! then crowding fast 
Come the joys of the past, 

Through the dimness of days long gone by, 
Like the stars peeping out. 
Through the darkness about, 

From the soft silent depth of the sky. 

II. 

And thus, as the night 
Grows more lovely and bright, 

With the clust'ring of planet and star, 
o this darkness of mine 
Wins a radiance divine 

From the light that still lingers afar. 
Then w^elcome the night. 
With its soft holy light! 

In its silence my heart is more free 
The rude world to forget, 
Where no pleasure I've met 

Since the hour that I parted from thee. 



LEGENDARY BA.LLADS. 95 



FORGIVE BUT DON'T FORGET. 

— • — 

I. 

I'm going, Jessie, far from thee. 
To distant lands beyond the sea ; 
I would not, Jessie, leave thee now, 
With anger's cloud upon thy brow. 
Remember that thy mirthful friend 
Might sometimes pique, but ne'er offend; 
That mirthful friend is sad, the while, 
Oh, Jessie, give a parting smile. 

II. 
Ah ! why should friendship harshly chide 
Our little faults on either side? 
From friends we love we bear with those, 
As thorns are pardon'd for the rose : — 
The honey bee, on busy wing. 
Producing sweets — yet bears a sting — 
The purest gold most needs alloy. 
And sorrow is the nurse of joy. 

III. 

Then oh! forgive me, ere I part. 
And if some corner in thy heart 
For absent friend a place might be, 
Ah ! keep that little place for me ! — 
"Forgive — Forget" we're wisely told. 
Is held a maxim good and old, 
But half the maxim's better yet. 
Then, oh, forgive, but donH forget! 



THE END. 



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Price only Ticenty-five Cents* 



THE COMPLETE KITCHEN AND FRUIT GARDENER. 

A SELECT MANUAL OF KITCHEN GARDENING, 
AND THE CULTURE OF FRUITS. 

CONTAINING 

FAMILIAR DIRECTIONS FOR THE MOST APPROVED PRACTICE IN 
EACH DEPARTMENT, DESCRIPTIONS OF MANY VALUA- 
BLE FRUITS, AND A CALENDAR OF WORK TO 
BE PERFORMED EACH MONTH IN THE 
YEAR. 
THE WHOLE ADAPTED TO THE CLIMATE OF THE UNITED STATES. 
In one small volume, paper. 
Price only Tuenty-five Cents* 



LIBRPRY OF CONGRESS 



Just published by LEA < 

LOVER'S RORY 



014 526 524 1 t) 



l*rice only Fifty Cents* 



KORT O'lflORE, 

A NATIONAL ROMANCE, 

By SAMUEL tOVER, ESQ,. 

In One very neat Royal 12mo Volume, with Illustrations by the Author. 
Fancy paper, price 50 cents, or in extra green cloth. 

"A truly Irish, national, and characteristic aXory.''''— London Lit. Gazette. 

"Mr. Lover has here produced his best work of fiction, which will survive when 
half the Irish sketches with which ihe literary world teems are forgotten. Rory O'More 
is a true Irish lad, whose peculiarities there can be no mistaking The national spirit 
of fun and festivity, of shrewdness and simplicity, of humor and pathos, is admirably 
developed in his character. The interest we take in the varied adventures of Rory is 
never once suffered to abate. We welcome him with high delight, and part from liim 
with regret." — London Sun. 



LOVER'S IRISH STORIES. 

Price only Fifty Cents* 



LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND. 

By SAMUEI. LOVER, Esq. 

In One very neat Royal 12mo Volume, with Illustrations by the Author. 

Fancy paper, price 50 cents, or in extra green cloth. 

" Lea & Rlanchard have issued in a neat and cheap volume. Lover's Legends and 
Stories of Ireland, with some of which many of our people luive formed a most delight- 
ful acquaintance from having heard tiiem reciied fn-m his own lips. 'I hey nre among 
the liest stories of the kind ever written, and cauiioi fail lo become popular in evt-ry 
section of the country where they may be read ' — N. Y. Courier and Enqnirer. 

The above are handsomely printed and done up lo match the •'?ongs and Ballads," 
forming a neat and cheap series. 



Also, ju§t issued, 

DEALINGS WITH THE FIRM OF DOMBEY & SON, Wholesale, Re- 
tail AND FOR Exportation. By Charles Dickens. To be completed hi 
Twenty Monthly Numbers, with two plates in each, being those which be- 
long to the respective numbers. Price only 8 cents each. Printed to match 
Lea & Blanchard's complete edition of Boz's Works. 

DICKENS'S CHRISTMAS STORIES. The Christmas Carol, The Chimes, 
and The Cricket on the Hearth, together with Pictures from Italy, 
in a neat 8vo vol., price only 25 cents, forming Part Eight of Lea S: Blan- 
chard's cheapest edition of Boz's Works. 

L.ea & Blaiichard will shortly publhh 
A NEW CHRISTMAS STORY, by Charles Dickens. 



